Midnight Munchies
by charmingly-holly
Summary: A home for all the little pointless nothings that pop up in my head in the middle of the night. Short things, perfect to accompany that illicit cookie in your hand. Rated per chapter.
1. Provoking a Poke

**_A/N: Ah yes. Well, this is not really a new story, per say. It's more just a...midnight munchie? It's where I'll put all my pointless, mundane little nothings- drabbles, itty bitty one-shots, dithering tirades, etc. etc.- that I usually write at midnight, when I'm hungry, and odd late night musings hit me. They will probably have very little to do with each other, if anything at all. They will probably have very little to do with anything, in fact. It's just a place for me to play around. Like a sandbox. Or a mud-wrestling tournament. So there you go._**

_**Do review, yes?**_

_**-h**_

_**Disclaimer: Alas, someone else invented midnight snacks. And also inspiration. Harry Potter, too. **_

Midnight Munchies: The First Munchie

Provoking a Poke

(A ditty about the Marauders, a typical day in Herbology, and also gender confusion.)

_For Toaster Strudels_

_Because who says you can't have breakfast at midnight?_

"Maybe we should poke it."

"That's a really terrible idea."

"I don't see why."

"Well, for one thing it has _spines_ which are _poky_ as well as _poisonous _as well as _very large_, and for another you always want to poke things and it always ends up causing chaos and destruction. And sometimes even unusual chicken-bone-related accidents."

At this statement, a grey-eyed, handsome boy looked up from the text he was reading to the two boys across the table.

"He's right, you know," he said to a messy-haired boy with glasses who was currently leaned over squinting closely at an unmoving dark red plant before him. "I nearly died because of you, James."

The messy-haired boy called James look up from scrutinizing his plant. "You nearly died because of a chicken bone, Sirius," he said.

"Which I only choked on because _you_ poked me in the groin. Cause and effect, mate. You would have been an accomplice to murder," he retorted.

"No I wouldn't have. Chicken bones don't have accomplices; they aren't alive," said James. "And anyways, I'm not suggesting we poke the plant in the groin, am I?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

James waved a hand exasperatedly. "No! Plants don't even have groins."

There was a silence at these words as the boys contemplated this. Then they all leaned towards their plants.

"I really don't think it's possible that they do have groins," said Remus, the one with the opinion about James' poking idea, peering at his and James' unmoving plant.

"I don't know," said Sirius. "Mine seems to be blushing a bit."

James looked up at him. "That's it's normal color, idiot."

Sirius opened his mouth to retort but ended up jerking back and slapping at his own plant as it reached a small vine out towards his hands. He gave the plant a fierce reprimanding look, and it seemed to wilt a bit in contrition. Sirius patted it in forgiveness.

"Good plant," he said. "No biting Mummy's hand. That is very bad."

James observed the scene with narrowed eyes and turned to the boy beside him. "Are you seeing this, Moony?" he demanded.

Remus Lupin, more affectionately called Moony by the ones who insisted upon dragging him into unlawful situations, surveyed the situation across from him blandly.

"What, Padfoot having gender-confusion issues? It's really nothing new, James. We've lived in the dorm with him for six years. We've seen his strange bathroom habits."

Sirius flipped a page in his text carelessly. "Is it so wrong enjoying taking a piss while in the seated position?" he asked unconcernedly. "You should try it sometime. Very restful for the buttocks."

Remus stared across at him as if he were a clown trying to solemnly lead a funeral procession, whilst James gesticulated wildly and point ferociously at Sirius' plant, which was now caressing Sirius' hand lovingly with its vine.

"See, Moony?" he demanded. "See? How come our plant isn't doing that?"

"Because your hands smell," Remus said absently, before addressing Sirius.

"Restful for the buttocks?" he wanted to know. "Sirius, you rest your buttocks every single day during classes."

Sirius made a funny face at his plant and tickled its sides. It vibrated with plant-laughter and wriggled its vines happily.

"And?"

"And my hands do not smell," James interrupted after having smelled them, glaring at the two (three, counting Peter, but Peter was ignoring everybody, sitting with his head in his hand, staring across the room at Amelia Midgen, looking extremely bored) boys who were ignoring him.

"_And_ that means there's absolutely no reason for you to need to rest your buttocks any more than they've already been rested!"

"Nonsense. It's a big castle. Long way between classes and all that."

Remus snorted. "It is, is it? And I suppose that's why no one _else_ needs to rest their buttocks between classes."

"No one _else_ thinks my hands smell, either."

"I don't care about everyone else, Moony. I am my own person. Non-conformity. Free love. Peace and shite."

"Peace? _Peace_? _You_? Having anything to do with _peace_? That is, quite honestly, the most ridiculous thing I have heard you say today, and yes, that's counting the thing about toilet paper."

"Oh come now. The toilet paper theory was highly plausible."

Remus only snorted.

"It was! With enough of it, we could definitely repel Peter from the roof to the girls' dormitory window."

"Yes, and we could also use it to _wipe my hands of their non-existent stench_."

James was, once again, ignored.

"It still defeats me how you can think that he would not be noticed."

"People often don't notice things that are right in front of their noses."

"Yes well, they _do_ notice things that are right in front of their _faces_. Especially if those things are wrapped in ridiculous amounts of toilet paper."

"Maybe," Sirius answered. "But this is Peter we're talking about, and with him we get the added bonus of the fact that no one ever notices him anyways."

"People do notice Peter," Remus said. "Sometimes."

"Not often."

"They do when he's singing Christmas carols."

"And also when he's smelling people's hands and informing the _accusers_ that they are _wrong_."

"Well, it isn't Christmas, and he has no reason to sing and bust peoples eardrums, so my theory would work."

"Peter, smell my hands."

Remus finally sighed exasperatedly. "This is the stupidest argument I've ever had in my life, and yes, that's including the one today about floss."

Sirius' plant was now posing dramatically so as Sirius could sketch it out more accurately, and Sirius smiled at it and fed it a dead fly.

"My theory about floss was _definitely_ true. It would have been wonderful reinforcement for the toilet paper."

"Yes, and probably would have sliced Peter into pieces like a boiled egg."

"Peter, are you listening to me? Smell my hands!"

James thrust his hands forcefully into Peter's face, and the boy finally took his eyes off Amelia Midgen to stare at James.

"What?"

"Were you staring at Amelia Midgen again?" James asked, noticing where Peter had been looking off to.

"Yes," Peter answered unconcernedly. "I keep thinking she's finally going to explode, and I don't want to miss it."

Amelia Midgen had a bit of an acne problem. Peter was fascinated by it.

James only stared for a moment before once again thrusting his hands at Peter.

"Smell my hands," he ordered.

"Why?" Peter wanted to know.

"Because Remus says they smell."

"And you don't believe him?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then why do you need me to smell them?"

James made a frustrated noise and whipped around in exasperation.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing his quill. "If everyone's just going to _ignore_ me…"

James advanced towards his apathetic plant.

"Sirius, eating gelatin mix will _not_ make you piss out a noodle."

"Oh, so you've tried it?"

"Of course not."

"Well then how do you know?"

"I _know_ because it's _common sense_."

"Common sense like not drinking your tea too hot is common sense, or common sense like _taking a flying leap at the statue of Barnabas the Barmy and expecting him to catch you_ is common sense?"

Remus reddened. "Oh, would you come off it? That was only once, and after _you_ hit me with too strong a cheering charm in class."

Sirius made to retort, but stopped when a scream sliced through the buzzing of the greenhouse. He, Remus, and Peter turned to stare at a flailing James Potter, who's entire head was engulfed in the bowels of his apparently not-so-apathetic plant.

"James is having his head eaten by his plant," Peter informed, cocking his head sideways to observe as James flailed about the greenhouse.

Remus and Sirius nodded in agreement.

"Interesting," Sirius said.

"I told him not to poke it," Remus said.

"You realized that the fangs of the Venomous Tantacula are, in fact, _venomous_, don't you?" Lily Evans said. She was leaning towards the group of boys from the other end of the table, observing the wailing James Potter in bland detachment.

Peter, Sirius, and Remus all nodded.

"I don't think they have enough poison at such a young age to kill him," Remus told her.

"Hm," she said. "How unfortunate."

James' wailing stopped momentarily, and he turned to face Lily, obviously estimating where she was by the sound of her voice, since he'd ended up addressing the large Flutterbloom three feet to Lily's right.

"Fine, Evans," said his muffled voice from within its encasement. Lily tried not to laugh at the fact that a boy with a flowerpot for a head was trying to look menacing. "But if I die from this, I'm coming back to haunt you until the day you die for showing no sympathy for a man in agony."

Lily paled. "Professor Sprout!" she exclaimed, waving her hand in the air immediately. "Professor Sprout, Potter's had his head eaten by his Venomous Tantacula, may I take him to Madam Pomfrey?"

The rest of the Marauders watched as Lily received consent from Professor Sprout and grabbed James by the scruff of the neck.

"Go get 'em, Prongsie!" Sirius yelled, and was rewarded with a rude hand gesture from his friend before he was yanked outside by an annoyed Lily Evans.

"Think they'll bond over this and she'll agree to snog him in Hogsmeade?" he asked Remus.

"Yes. And I also think your theory that pumpkin pasties are a cure for cancer isn't completely ridiculous and entirely beyond the truth."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think _you_ were the one testing that."

"You're right. You were. And you didn't even have cancer."

"You only think that because the pasties cured it so fast it was never detectable."

"Really? Well then _why_, pray tell, did you never mention your ailment until _after_ you needed an excuse for stealing Frank Longbottom's pastie stash?"

Peter turned away from his bickering friends and resumed his staring at Amelia Midgen. It really was quite extraordinary, her acne. Completely fascinating. She really did look like she was on the very brink of explosion.

"Maybe if I poked her…"

_**A/N: Ah, pointless Marauder fun :) Tell me how you liked it, yes?**_

_**-h**_


	2. Sometimes

_**A/N: Short drabblish thing. Highly unrealistic, I'd say, but what is Hogwarts for?**_

_**Read and review, loo-hoos!**_

_**-h**_

_**Disclaimer: Alas, no.**_

Midnight Munchies: The Second Munchie

Sometimes

(A fluffly thing, about Lily and James, because they loved once)

_For warm cookies and cold milk_

_Because that doesn't even need an explanation_

He walks into the room and sneezes, and automatically she finds herself voicing the traditional "bless you" and looking up to smile at whoever it was who sneezed because she's in a good mood. She falters though, with the smile halfway on her face, when she catches a glare off the lenses of round glasses, and he's before her staring like maybe she's just reversed gravity.

"Thanks," he says back mechanically, because his mum taught him manners when he was young, and he suddenly looks surprised as if he can't quite understand why they are speaking to one another, even if it's only a mundane formality.

She feels like she needs to explain herself.

"It's just you're supposed to say 'bless you' when a person sneezes," she says unnecessarily, because obviously he knows because everyone does and anyways he responded appropriately the first time without really realizing that he had.

He still hasn't blinked.

"I know," he says, and still he sounds surprised, or even a little bit awed.

"Because, it's just," she falters because she realizes that she is fidgeting constantly and he has not yet moved a muscle. "Well, it's automatic," and she doesn't know why the other automatic with her, the one that has her frowning every time he's near and speaking only in harsh tones when he's addressing her doesn't seem to be present right now.

"I know," he says again, and her hands can't seem to find a place to rest that isn't awkward or uncomfortable or unnatural.

"It's just that your heart stops when you…when you sneeze."

There's a small, slight tap on the window, muffled a bit, sort of like when she's reading and doesn't realize she's stuck her tongue to the top of her mouth until suddenly it clicks slightly as it falls to rest back behind her bottom teeth, and she turns slightly to see a raindrop clinging to the glass.

He blinks. Motion finds him again, and he's suddenly walking away, towards the boys' staircase. A pause at the foot of them, and he says something so quiet that she nearly doesn't hear it behind the small sounds of more rain padding down onto earth, staining the ground like pawprints in sand..

"No," he says. "That isn't what makes your heart stop."

He disappears before the words fully sift through her brain, and then she's only staring at the little rivulets forming on the window pane.

"I know," she whispers even though he can't hear her.

She says it because it's true, because not saying it would be a lie, because even though she hadn't sneezed his eyes had told her 'bless you.'

Sometimes it's a touch, or a glance, or a laugh, or a smile. Sometimes it's a frown, or a tear, or a brush of a pair of lips against the nape of a neck.

Sometimes it's only a question. Sometimes it's only a formality. Sometimes it's only what comes with instinct.

Sometimes it's only a raindrop.

Sometimes, it's only boy.

Later, it's been two years, she steps into the room and sneezes. He looks up and opens his mouth, but she drops her bag on the ground and holds out her hands to stop him.

"No," she says. "That's not what makes your heart stop."

Sometimes it's only a look. Sometimes it's only a sentence. Sometimes it's everything and nothing but mostly the in-between.

He stands and advances toward her, putting his hands on her wrists to lower her outstretched arms, and their breath sifts together between them and he can smell the rain in her hair and she can smell the heat of the fire in his robes.

"Bless you," he whispers, and she finds it appropriate.

_This is what makes your heart stop, love. And some call first kisses cliché._

Everything happens only in moments, but sometimes- all the time- it's worth it.

_**A/N: Hmm. Read and review?**_

_**Ya'll rock :)**_

_**-h**_


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